


Perhaps Not Issues Enough

by tessykins



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-17
Updated: 2008-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessykins/pseuds/tessykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pam’s less than impressed with the Joker. Harley, on the other hand, is enthralled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps Not Issues Enough

we with issues but perhaps not issues enough  
to become suddenly the best show in town  
however briefly clapped and clapped  
as if we wanted our hands bloodied like his  
\- Denver Butson  
Gotham isn’t where she’d planned to end up.

When she’d left grad school to make the world a better place, she’d though she’d be traveling the world, fighting evil corporations, saving the Earth. Things had not gone as planned. There had been the problem with money, mainly that she had none. No environmental group would have anything to do with her; too radical, they called her.

Pam sneers; of course she was radical. They were the ones who were too weak; too frightened to really fight the way the Earth needed them to. _She_ was the only one willing to fight.

Her lonely path had eventually led her to Gotham, the end of the line.

If there was a hell on earth, Pam’s pretty sure it’s somewhere in Gotham City. The gas attacks had left the whole city in shambles; parts of the Narrows had been declared to be lost causes and were left to fester. These places were filled with the destitute and the desperate, the inhuman and the insane. Pam fit right in. She’d found herself uniquely able to navigate the tortured landscapes of the lawless and forgotten Narrows.

She wasn’t the only one.

Others, misfits like herself, had found their way there. And they’d taken over. She’d had to fight to survive, killing gangbangers, drug dealers, and psychopaths with equal ruthlessness. She had almost been surprised at the depths of ferocity she possessed. But necessity was the mother of invention, and necessity had birthed a new, dangerous Pam Isley.

Pam had carved out her own territory, a place of her own. She’d claimed an abandoned warehouse that had once belonged to a greenhouse company. Now she protected it against all comers.

It was a sanctuary of sorts; she let others live there, as long as they didn’t cause her any problem.

As long as they didn’t interfere with her work, they were simply background noise.

Except for Harley.

Harley had waltzed into her warehouse and her life, interrupting Pam’s work whenever she felt like it, sometimes just to tell her an idiotic joke. But somehow, Pam just couldn’t make herself get mad at the petite blonde.

Harley’s watching the news, again. The Joker’s been all over the TV, with his taped executions and his stunts to impress the Batman. Pam’s less than impressed; this Joker’s more about theater than results. He’s just a mad dog, killing for the joy of it. He has no purpose, no cause.

Harley, on the other hand, is enthralled.

She camps out in front of the TV, curled up on a threadbare sofa dragged in from the street. Her eyes are bright and sparkle in the blue ghost-light of the stolen set. She chews on the ends of her chopped-short blonde hair, mind and heart stolen by the crazed jester.

Pam hates the Joker for it. Harley was hers, and he’s stolen her away. At least a part of her. But Pam’s going to enjoy what she has of her sweet, savage girl.

She plops down besides Harley, loops her arm around her shoulders; Harley snuggles against her, for warmth, for companionship. “You still watching this?”

Harley nods. “He’s escaped,” she says, exultant, and there’s reverence in her voice.

Pam sighs; she knows that Arkham could never hold the Joker, though she’d hoped. “What do you suppose he’s got planned next?” Because there’s no way a man like the Joker hasn’t got something up his sleeve.

Harley smiles up at her beatifically. “Something _abominable_.”

Pam arches and eyebrow. “Abominable? That’s an awful big word.”

Harley laughs. “Putting my college degree to work.”

“You dropped out of college,” Pam grins.

“Oh,” Harley says. “Yeah.” She falls silent again; the Joker’s caught her eye.

Pam turns her eyes back to the TV, watching the reports of the dangerous dance between Joker and Bat. Clown and hero, spinning around until they rip each other to pieces. Harley may not see it, but she does. There’s only room in the dance for two.

“You ever think about it?” Harley asks suddenly, shorn, dirty hair obscuring her blue eyes. “Putting on a mask, making them all fear you?”

“Masks do seem to be the fashion now,” Pam responds drily, but her arm tightens around Harley’s shoulder. A jolt of fear down her spine; maybe Harley is thinking of leaving her, of joining him. “I’ve always preferred being a spectator. Besides, you’ve got to be pretty crazy to put on a getup like that. I’m crazy, but I’m not that crazy.”

“Seriously, Pammy.” Harley looks up at her, blue half-light making her cheekbones sharp as knives. “Haven’t you ever thought about it?”

Pam rakes her hand through her short crop of hair. She thinks about the professors that snubbed her at school, about the eco groups that won’t touch her, about the people who still won’t listen, about her own inability to change the world. “Yes,” she sighs wearily. “I’ve thought about it. But thought and action aren’t the same.”

“I know.” Harley shrugs. “When I was a little girl I always wanted to be a superhero. Now I figure being a supervillain’d be more fun. Thought I’d probably end up being someone’s sidekick, knowing me.” She looks at the TV again, and Pam can see wistfulness in the pout of her lips. “I wouldn’t be too bad being his—“

Pam grabs her chin and forces Harley to look at her, cutting off her awful words. “I’d never let him have you. I’d become a supervillain and make you my sidekick before I’d let that happen.” Rage boils up inside her, like a root tearing through concrete. She snarls, “You’re _mine_.”

She steals Harley’s breath in a harsh kiss, trying to possess all of her. She tangles her hands in Harley’s hair, pulling her head back sharply. Harley moans and opens her mouth against Pam’s. Tongues tangle, hot and wet and breath-mingling. Pam tugs harder at Harley’s hair, knowing her girl can’t get enough.

Pam bears Harley down on the threadbare sofa, mouth moving down her lover’s throat. She sucks at the soft skin, rakes it with sharp teeth. She wants to leave a mark, wants everyone to know that this beautiful crazy girl belongs to her, and no one else. “Yes,” Harley groans, arching up against her. “Yes, yours. _More_.” Pam is more than willing to oblige.

She rips her tank top off, pulls Harley’s tattered t-shirt up over her head, cupping small white breasts in her hands. Harley pulls her mouth back down to hers, kissing fiercely. She bites at Pam’s lips and drags nails down her back. Pam moans and brushes her thumbs over Harley’s pert nipples. Harley gasps, writhing against her, panting for more, always more.

Pam grabs her hips as she kisses her, holding her down, knows she’s leaving bruises and doesn’t care. She pulls at the zipper of Harley’s jeans, yanks them over her jutting hipbones and down her legs. She’s really not surprised that Harley isn’t wearing underwear.

Harley grins, coquettish, and fumbles at Pam’s own jeans until she finds silk panties. Pam moans at the slide of Harley’s fingers over silk, over flesh. She latches her mouth on to Harley’s breast, sucking at the nipple. Harley arches up, her hands losing coordination and falling away.

Pam slips a hand down, fingertips pushing into Harley, hot and wet. Harley gaps, her head falling back, eyes closed. “Yeah,” she purrs. Pam grins, angry and lusty, and pushes three fingers into her lover. Harley whimpers and her hands bury in Pam’s short hair, pulling and pushing in equal measure. Pam rakes her other hand down Harley’s vulnerable flank, knowing the scrape of nails drives her crazy.

Harley groans, long and deep. Her hands fall from Pam’s hair to hips, pulling her close. Harley’s thigh slots tightly between her own, rubbing against her in the most delicious way. Pam moans and lets her head come to rest on Harley’s breastbone. Harley regains her breath a moment and her hand slides between Pam’s legs, fingers curling into her sharp and filling.

They thrust in time, hips jerking and cries muffled against sweat-slick skin. Panting with her own desire, feeling pleasure curl in her belly, Pam presses her thumb harshly against Harley’s clit, twisting her fingers inside her. Harley comes with a strangled scream, wet heat against Pam’s hand.

Pam grunts and bites at Harley’s neck, leaving another mark. Harley gasps and wiggles, the friction just enough to send Pam over the edge. She comes in silence, an explosion of white heat, the taste of Harley’s skin on her tongue.

“Mine,” she pants against Harley’s throat.

“Yours,” Harley agrees; hands possessive on Pam’s naked back.


End file.
